But she would hate the Beast for making her his whore.
And whore she would be. The Beast’s offer of marriage might as well have been an offer of carte blanche. Its terms were not much different. She had agreed to make her body available to him on demand, and he had agreed to reward her with comfortable living conditions in return. Their children would be legitimate. She would be respectable in company again. She would be married to him before God and man.
But not within her heart. She would despise him for not caring. For treating her with contempt and contumely.
Eliza knew many ton marriages were no better than what she had been offered. But she wanted more—the more she had been searching for all her life, but which had never had a shape until now. Eliza envisioned a life of shared hopes and dreams. A willingness to travel life’s rutted roads together. A mutual joy in creating and raising children. And undying, eternal love.
The duke’s offer included none of that.
She wanted to say no. She wanted to walk away. But there was more to be considered than her own feelings in the matter.
Suppose she did not marry the Beast.
She and Aunt Lavinia would be forced to return to Ravenwood, unless she could find another position. Who would she find willing to overlook the scandal attached to her name? Or willing to accept an elderly, blind companion along with an odd-looking, sharp-tongued young lady?
The children would be left to the mercy of the next governess hired to care for them.
And the Beast would prowl his dungeon, alone forevermore.
You are going in circles.
Eliza laid herself on the cot and arranged her flannel gown so it covered her to the ankles. She had left the lantern burning. Aunt Lavinia would not mind, and she would not have to deal with the nightmares that came in the dark. She cocked her barefoot toes perpendicular to the bed, aligned her hands by her sides, and traced a crack across the replastered ceiling with her eyes.
She had a few more hours to ponder. A few more hours to make up her mind.
“Have you said your prayers, Eliza?” her aunt asked softly.
“I will do it now.” Eliza clasped her hands before her.
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake …
Becky’s worried face appeared before her. Reggie’s tumbling-down braids. And the scars on her back.
I pray the Lord—
The crack in the ceiling blurred. Eliza gripped her hands so tightly the knuckles turned white. She gritted her teeth to stop her chin from quivering.
Please, please, she prayed. Tell me what to do.
* * *
“Rise and shine, you sleepyheads!” Eliza said, shoving the faded maroon velvet curtains back from the window to let in the morning sun. There was not a cloud in the sky—or in her mind. Sometime during the night she had realized exactly what she must do. “Slugabeds!” she chided.
Becky popped up amid the tangled sheets, eyes open wide.
Reggie sat up groggily, squinted in Eliza’s direction, said to Becky “I told you so,” yawned, and flopped back down.
“Uncle Marcus hired you!” Becky said, her face breaking into a relieved smile. “I was so worried he would not. Reggie was sure you would convince Uncle Marcus to let you stay and be our governess.”
Eliza picked up the silver brush and comb set from the dressing table and crossed to Becky. For the first time she noticed that Reggie’s nightdress was on inside out, and Becky was still wearing a bow in her disheveled black curls. It dawned on her the girls must have dressed themselves for bed.
Eliza sat down and tried untying Becky’s pink bow. She knew immediately why it had been left on overnight. The ribbon had pulled tight, with strands of hair caught within the knots. It would have been impossible for either child to untie it. Eliza finally managed to get it off and began brushing Becky’s hair.
Reggie immediately sat up, eyeing her sister enviously.
“Your turn will come,” Eliza said with a laugh. “I am not going anywhere.” She bit her lip and added, “But I am not going to be your governess, either.”
“What?” Reggie said, scrambling to her knees on the bed.
Becky twisted around to gape at Eliza, and the brush caught on a snarl. “Ow! You hurt me!” she said in an aggrieved voice, rubbing the injured spot and backing up toward her sister.
“I’m sorry,” Eliza said.
Reggie and Becky huddled together near the center of the bed. Eliza was sure they did not even realize they were holding hands.
“Why aren’t you going to be our governess?” Reggie demanded, her blue eyes wary.
Eliza took a deep breath and plunged. “Because I have decided to be your aunt instead. I hope you won’t mind.”
Reggie gasped. “Our aunt?”
Becky shared a significant look with Reggie. “Aunt Eliza,” she said, as though some secret message were being passed between them. “Aunt Eliza,” she repeated with reverence.
Reggie looked thoughtful. “Does this mean you are going to marry Uncle Marcus?”
“He has offered for me,” Eliza said, fighting the urge to jump up from her perch on the bed and pace. “I have not given him my answer. I am willing. But I wanted to make sure first that neither of you will mind.”
“Mind?” Becky said, grinning from ear to ear. “Why, it’s bloody marvelous!” Becky slapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean marvelous,” she quickly corrected. “The bloody just came out, Eliza. I don’t know why I said it. I am just so excited! And glad!”
“I will excuse you this time, young lady,” Eliza said, arching a brow. “But that word is to be erased from your vocabulary.”
“Yes, Aunt Eliza,” Becky said.
Eliza opened her arms, and Becky scurried over to be hugged. She turned around and plopped herself down so Eliza could finish brushing her hair.
Eliza’s gaze focused on Reggie’s troubled face. “Reggie?” she prodded, deftly braiding Becky’s hair. “Have you some objection to the marriage?”
“Having you for our aunt … It would almost be like having another mother,” Reggie said.
“Would that be so bad?” Eliza asked, tying off the pink bow and giving Becky a little shove off her lap to make room for Reggie.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Reggie hesitated, then scooted over and backed up close to Eliza to have her hair brushed. Once Eliza started, Reggie’s eyes slid closed, as though she were having a religious experience.
Eliza wondered what the twins’ mother had done that made them think twice about having another one. She tried to imagine what it might have been like to live in a household where the drunken duchess accused her brother-in-law of being the father of the duke’s children. Episodes of rage and spite. Shouting and broken glass. Ominous, insidious silence.
Guessing was not good enough. She needed to know what it was Reggie feared. “What is it, exactly, you’re afraid will happen if I marry your uncle?”
Reggie opened her eyes and gave Eliza a veiled look over her shoulder. “I think that once you and Uncle Marcus are married, you won’t want any more to do with me and Becky. And that you’ll make Uncle Marcus stay away from us, too.”
Neglect Abandonment. That was the duchess’s terrible sin. And apparently the duke’s, as well.
“I don’t believe anything could make your uncle Marcus abandon you,” Eliza said quietly. “And I already love you both too much ever to leave you.”
Reggie stared doubtfully at her. She swallowed hard. “I … I …”
Eliza saw it was all too much for Reggie to believe. That she was loved. That she would never be abandoned again. That her uncle would come out of hiding at last—Eliza was determined that he would—and be the father that he had not been in the past.
“I suppose it will be all right,” Reggie said gruffly. “At least we will have you for a little while.”
Eliza knew that only time would prove to
Reggie that she had meant what she said. At least the children were willing to accept her. That was a good start.
Eliza finished Reggie’s braids and searched for a bow among the bedsheets, but did not see one. “Where is your pink bow, Reggie?”
“I lost it in bed somewhere, I guess.”
“Do you have another?”
Reggie shook her head.
“We will simply have to use another color,” Eliza said, jumping up. “Where do you keep your hair ribbons?”
“In the drawer of the dressing table,” Becky said, hop-skipping alongside Eliza. “But we always wear the same color. You will have to change mine, and match it to whatever Reggie is wearing.”
Eliza pulled out a bright yellow ribbon and marched back to where Reggie sat dumbfounded. “Why?”
“Because,” Becky said, crawling up onto the bed beside her sister, “we always dress alike.”
“Why?” Eliza asked again. “Is there a rule that says all twins must dress alike?”
While Becky looked at her as though she had lost her mind, Eliza tied the bright yellow ribbon at Reggie’s nape.
“I suppose I never thought about it before,” Becky admitted. “Have you ever heard of a rule, Reggie?”
“No,” Reggie said. “No rule. It is just … We have always done it.”
The twins looked at each other in awed silence.
“I suppose you will have to wear the same shifts today,” Eliza said, “but I see no reason why we cannot go shopping and let each of you choose what colors you would like best.”
“Yellow,” said Reggie, fingering her bow. “And green and pink and blue.”
“Blue,” Becky said, “And pink and yellow and green.”
Eliza laughed. “I can see we will have to vary the patterns as well, or we are liable to end up with a great deal of confusion over whose shift is whose after all.”
“Different patterns,” Becky said with wonder.
“And different colors,” Reggie added. Her brow furrowed, and she turned to Eliza. “Do you think Uncle Marcus will allow it?”
“Since ‘Aunt Eliza’ approves, I am sure he can have no objection,” she replied tartly.
The twins looked at each other, then back at her, and laughed delightedly.
Eliza joined them.
The twins were nearly finished dressing when Becky asked, “Where is the wedding to be held and when?”
“This evening. In the chapel,” Eliza replied.
Reggie looked horrified. “In the chapel? Why, it is crumbling down! No one is allowed in there for fear the ceiling will fall on their heads! How can you be married there?”
The absurdity of wedding a man whose face she was not allowed to see, in a chapel where the ceiling was in imminent danger of falling on their heads, made Eliza laugh.
“It will be a death-defying adventure, to be sure,” she conceded with a smile. “Nevertheless, your uncle and I will be married there today at sundown.”
“May I throw flower petals from a basket?” Becky asked. “I saw it done once, when a couple married at the fair in Comarty.”
“I am sure we could arrange it,” Eliza said. “In fact, we could decorate the whole chapel with flowers. And put candles everywhere.” Flowers would soften the stark stone walls. And candles would relieve the gloom and perhaps allow her to catch a glimpse of the Beast.
“When is Uncle Marcus coming to see us?” Reggie asked. “I want to tell him—”
“I do not believe he intends to see you,” Eliza interrupted. Better to let them hear the truth now, than to be disillusioned later.
Reggie left her stocking rolled halfway up her calf. Becky paused with her toe pointed at her right half boot.
“But whyever not?” Becky asked, setting her stocking foot flat on the hardwood floor. “If you are getting married, Uncle Marcus will have to leave the east wing of the Abbey and come live with us. Won’t he?”
“Not necessarily.” Eliza had turned her back to the children, busily doing inventory on what clothing they had and what they would need to buy. But she could see the dismay and disappointment reflected on their young faces in the looking glass before her.
Eliza rounded to face them, trying not to look as upset and frustrated as she felt. “Your uncle and I have agreed to marry. But he will continue living where he is.”
“I knew it was too good to be true,” Reggie said bitterly. “If marriage to you cannot pry Uncle Marcus out of there, nothing ever will!”
“How is it possible for Uncle Marcus to remain there?” Becky demanded. “Will you have to sleep there, too? With the ghosts and goblins and—”
“No,” Eliza said, shivering at the thought. “I will have a room here, near you.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Becky said.
Reggie said nothing, simply stared at Eliza with too much knowledge in her eyes.
Did she know that Eliza would be spending at least part of every night in her uncle’s bed? That Eliza dreaded the thought of it? That Eliza, who was no willing martyr, had decided she could bear anything for the sake of the children?
“I have not given up hope that your uncle will eventually decide to join us,” Eliza said. “Perhaps over time—”
“It has been a year,” Reggie said. “If he was ever going to come out, he would have by now.”
“He was not married to me before,” Eliza said determinedly. “I have no intention of allowing your uncle to languish alone in the dark. The three of us are going to make his solitude so unpleasant that he will leap at the chance to forsake it.”
“The three of us?” Becky said. “You and Reggie and me?”
Eliza nodded firmly.
“What did you have in mind?” Reggie asked, the first spark of interest lighting in her eyes.
Eliza smiled ruefully. “I had not quite gotten that far,” she admitted.
“We can be ghosts in the secret passage,” Becky said excitedly, “and scare him out!”
“We can oversalt his beef,” Reggie said. “And put water in his wine.”
“We can ambush him at the stable,” Becky said.
“He rides?” Eliza asked.
Becky nodded. “He gallops Blanca over the hills on moonlit nights. I’ve seen him. But I’ve never been able to catch him.”
“She falls asleep in the stable,” Reggie said.
“Uncle Marcus brings me inside and puts me to bed.”
“You only wish he did,” Reggie countered. “It is the groom and Fenwick and the governess who do it.”
“Wait, wait,” Eliza said. “You are both going too fast for me. Finish dressing.” She rubbed her hands together as though she were preparing to make a tasty dish of something good to eat. “I can see the three of us have a great many plans to make. We might as well get started this afternoon.”
“Doing what?” Reggie asked.
Eliza shot her a mischievous smile. “Making life in the east wing as uncomfortable as we can for your uncle.”
Chapter 16
Eliza had been full of bravado when she confronted the children in the morning sun. She was not quite so courageous waiting in the cold stone chapel for the Beast of Blackthorne to arrive. She had pleaded with Aunt Lavinia to come to the wedding, but her aunt had refused.
“You will have other things to do than watch out for me,” Aunt Lavinia said. “You know I cannot see anything anyway.”
“What a corker!” Eliza replied in exasperation. “You see just fine when you want to!”
“Do you mean clanker, my dear?” her aunt asked.
Eliza harrumped. “I meant big fat lie!”
Her aunt grinned, and Eliza hugged her tight. “Oh, I will miss you so much! I wish you would come.”
“I will be with you at the Abbey soon enough, child.” Aunt Lavinia had sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I am getting my crying out of the way early. I promise only smiles when we meet again, my darling duchess.”
Eliza looked around a
t the empty wooden pews in the chapel and wanted to cry. She did not feel like anyone’s darling right now. And she was going to need all the willpower she had to wait around long enough for the duke to make her his duchess.
Reggie and Becky stood on either side of her at the back of the chapel, resplendent in matching white dresses—with different colored sashes. Each girl wore a crown of white daisies atop her braided hair, a gift from Eliza. She had tried to show them how to make a crown themselves, but they had been too busy gathering flowers in the meadow to sit and do such quiet work.
When the twins were ready to come downstairs for the wedding, she had surprised each of them with a crown of daisies. They had laughed and exchanged a conspiratorial glance before Reggie reached under the bed and came up with another crown—this one made of wildflowers.
“We had the same idea,” Becky explained. “Ours is not quite as neat as the ones you made,” she said hesitantly.
Her glance slid from the neat circles of daisies Eliza had created to the wild jumble of yellow snapdragons, white daisies, blue bachelor’s buttons, and bell-shaped lilies-of-the-valley that the twins had woven into a crown.
“Here,” Reggie said, extending the crown of wildflowers reverently toward her. “It’s our wedding gift to you.”
“It’s lovely,” Eliza said, accepting the chaos of color from Reggie and standing before the looking glass to put it on. The crown was so large, that instead of sitting on top of her head, it came to rest—flowers crushing, stems painfully scratching and poking—halfway down her forehead, like a band across her brow.
“It’s too big,” Reggie said flatly.
“Not at all,” Eliza countered, trying to keep from wincing as she adjusted a few of the worst-offending stems. When she was done, she turned to face them with a radiant smile on her face. “This is exactly what a very famous queen of England, Eleanor of Aquitaine, wore at her wedding.”
Reggie eyed her doubtfully.
“I swear,” Eliza said, crossing her heart. “Only her band was made of ugly gold and jewels, not beautiful blossoms like mine.”
She surprised a laugh out of Becky and a snort of disbelief from Reggie.
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